


You Shouldn't Be Alive

by Mary Reed (Mary_Reed)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Also if Mad-Eye was actually who he said he was, And cursed the cup in his fourth year, And lil Harry, And sorry about my obsession with hands, But I can't help it and I'm sorry/not sorry, Cause that would've been super cool, Except without the like sexual stuff, Gen, I'm approaching Tarantino-levels of appendage fetishizing here, It's not super edited but I liked it and I've been absent on here, Marauders4evr, My poor babies, Sorry about that by the way, Sort of Dumbledore Negative, Thanks for the prompt, Who suggested an AU in which Dumbledore decided that if Harry died, and their shaking, the Order would be able to defeat Voldy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 22:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7010119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_Reed/pseuds/Mary%20Reed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this snapshot set in the Harry Potter book universe, we look at a post-Triwizard Tournament in which three things are different: number one, Mad-Eye is actually Mad-Eye; number two, Dumbledore, not Karkaroff, cursed the cup; and three, Dumbledore has decided that the best way to defeat Voldemort is to allow him to be resurrected one final time, and to kill Harry and Voldemort in one fell swoop so that the villain will be truly dead. This does not go according to plan because twin cores and dead parent ghosts. We see Harry, sitting with actual Alastor Moody in his office, having just discovered this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Shouldn't Be Alive

_“You shouldn’t be alive.”_

_“Yeah; people keep telling me that.”_

_“You don’t understand; you were supposed to die.”_

_“What are you talking about?”_

_“Neither can live while the other survives.”_

 

            Harry’s hands were shaking.

            They had been for hours, but he hadn’t noticed until just now, holding this mug of hot chocolate and watching it threaten to spill over the edge. He tried to steady them, pushing at the flashes of green that danced before his eyes. A drop of warm chocolate hit his thigh.

            He stopped trying.

            “Dumbledore would never do something like this, Dumbledore has always protected me,” muttered Harry.

            “Look kid, there’s something he should’ve told you years ago, but he didn’t because he was afraid you’d get scared. There was a prophecy about you, that said neither can live while the other survives. You’re important because you’re the only one who can kill him,” said Moody gruffly. Both eyes were focused on the ragged boy before him, confusion and shock written all over his tired face.

            “Professor, I don’t understand… How do you know this?” asked Harry.

            “Order of the Phoenix,” responded Moody. “We fought Voldemort the first time around, before his curse turned on him, and we’ve been keeping an eye out ever since. You parents were members,” he added. “Ask Black if you want to know more.”

            “So…” Harry was at a loss. This boy with his father’s face and his mother’s eyes and courage borrowed from friends held close did not know how to deal with betrayal like this. Dumbledore was not an acquaintance, like Quirrell, or someone from a life before his who was supposed to be safe, like Peter; no, Dumbledore was supposed to be home. He was the face of the most welcoming gates Harry had ever seen, the head of a school that had accepted him when no one else would, the man who chased the monsters away. This was the first face he saw after Voldemort came screaming back into his life, the seemingly random pieces of advice that would ultimately save his godfather, the guiding force in Harry’s tumultuous life.

            “We knew he had plans,” said Moody, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “We just never thought he would act this soon. As soon as your name came up in the goblet we were all on alert, your godfather especially. But cursing the trophy…” Moody seemed at a loss.

            “But he didn’t know I would win,” said Harry.

            “Actually, he did,” said Moody. “It was a simple matter of controlling the Durmstrang boy. He could take care of the girl and Diggory, and if not the maze itself was charmed to stop anyone but you. He didn’t count on you offering to share the prize though. Shows what he knows.” Moody snorted disapprovingly.

            “So, what do I do now?” asked Harry. The truth was setting in and it showed. The confusion was falling off of his face, making room for the weight of grief to settle in. “He’s the reason Cedric is dead, he killed a good person, he…” His voice caught in his throat. Where was Harry supposed to stand, if not behind Dumbledore? How could he defeat Voldemort without the only thing Tom Riddle feared behind him?

 

            Suddenly the fireplace in Moody’s office burst into life, spitting green flames near the somber pair.

            “Dammit, Black,” muttered Moody with pronounced frustration. He didn’t have to look to know who would emerge from the fireplace, so he poured himself a glass of firewhisky with a grumble instead. Out of the haze of smoke and flames leapt one Sirius Black, half dressed with concern and outrage on his gaunt face.

            “Harry!” he called, tripping on an end table as he leapt towards his godson. His robe caught on Moody’s shot glass, knocking it over and spilling the simmering liquid everywhere. He had eyes only for Harry, though, pushing past Moody before “bloody hell, Black” could leave his lips.

            “Sirius, I-” began Harry, but before he could finish Sirius’ wiry arms were around him. Tears sprang to Harry’s eyes, and he began to shake violently in his godfather’s embrace.

            “It’s ok Harry. It’s ok now,” said Sirius.

            “Sirius, he betrayed us. He let Cedric die and Voldemort is still out there, still-” Harry’s voice broke, and he couldn’t force the word “killing” out. His thoughts kept tripping on his tongue, fighting the reality of the situation. “Killing” tasted like Cedric dead on the lawn, a flash of green in a nursery, Quirrel turning to sand in Harry’s 11-year-old palms.

            Sirius felt pain twist in his chest, visions of Lily and James laying dead fresh in his mind, Harry wailing in a crib that Sirius had helped build. This boy did not deserve any more breaking. But here he was, cracks in his mother’s eyes.

             “We’re going to take you somewhere safe, and we’ll work it out from there. You’re not alone, Harry. You’re not alone.”

 


End file.
